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1 


Questionings 

By 
ZJlberta  Johnston  "Denis 


Copyright,  1920 

by 
Alberta  Johnston  Denis 


Press  of 

Times  -  Mirror  Printing 

and  Binding  House 

Los  Angeles 

1920 


To 

George 


415010 


QUESTIONINGS 

Oh!  Soul,  thou  dweller  for  a  little  space 

In  this  poor  body: 

Canst  not  remember  whence  thou  hast  come? 

Canst  not  return 

When  once  the  knot,  albeit  such  a  thread, 

Is  cut? 

Art  thou  the  Ego, 

And  ask  I  but  myself? 

Or,  art  thou  something  other? 

Am  I  not  thee? 

Am  I  but  mortal,  all? 

Dost  leave  the  me  when  thou  betak'st  thyself 

Some  other  where? 

Or,  do  I,  myself,  depart  with  thee, 

Am  thee,  in  fact? 

Do  I  then  leave  this  body  with  the  breath, 

Nor  give  a  thought  to  all  the  while 

That  I,  if  I  am  thee,  the  Soul, 

Have  dwelt  therein? 

Or,  do  I  linger,  knowing  all, 

When  throbbing  ceases, 

Feeling,  seeing  all  that  passes, 

And  hearing,  as  it  falls,  the  clod, 

When  "Dust  to  dust"  is  said? 


THE  FAR  AWAY  LAND 

Swathed  in  a  mist  of  life  that  is  lived 

Is  the  land  of  Far  Away. 

It   is   one    of   the   numberless    "Isles   of   the    Past" 

Where  Phoebus  rose  high  in  glad  array, 

In  gold  and  purple  with  streamers  gay, 

To  spread  his  gleams  for  a  joyous  day. 

The  misty  isle  was  the  "Isle  of  Sighs", 

The  storm  driven  one  was  "Tears", 

The  gay  little  dot  was  childhood's  spot, 

Hedged  round  with  kisses  and  fears. 

But  the  glorious  one  with  golden  haze, 

Ah!  that  was  the  "Isle  of  my  Youth". 

A  very  fair  land  was  that  "Far  Away  Land", 
As  I  look  through  the  vista  of  years. 

Now  I  live  on  a  strip  of  wind-swept  shore; 

I  gaze  at  the  setting  sun. 

For  me  the  "Isles  of  the  Past"  are  no  more, 

My  earth-day  is  almost  done. 

But  I've  work  to  do  on  this  wind-swept  shore 

Where  the  swirling  sand  beats  in  my  eyes, 

And  birds  of  ill  omen  hover  o'er, 

And  the  wind  outrivals  their  cries. 

The  wind-swept  shore  is  nothing  but  Life, 

Or  so  it  appears  to  me.    The  sand  and  the  gale, 

And  the  birds  with  their  wail, 

All  stand  for  hurry  and  strife. 

Tho'  still  in  my  mind  to  ease  the  pain 

Is  the  land  of  Far  Away, 

All  bright  and  shining  and  free  from  stain, 

With  never  a  cloud  and  never  a  rain. 


I  couldn't  go  back  if  I  wanted  to; 

I  wouldn't  go  back  if  I  could; 

For,  perhaps,  'tis  a  circle  of  Life  I  tread, 

And  beyond  that  sun  so  coppery  red, 

I  shall  find  once  more  the  "Isles  of  the  Past", 

My  spot  in  the  "Far  Away  Land"  at  last, 

When  the  riddle  called  "Life"  is  done. 


THE  ISLAND  OF  LOVE 

Oh!  where 

Out  there 

Is  the  "Island  of  Love"? 

Is  that  what  you  ask  of  me? 

You  may  look  till  you  are  blind, 

You  never  will  find 

An  "Island  of  Love"  in  the  sea. 

From  the  earth  beneath  to  the  stars  above, 

There  is  love 

Everywhere. 

So — there  isn't  an  "Island  of  Love" 

Out  there! 


LOVE  EVERYWHERE 

You  will  find  it  along 

The  work-a-day  road, 

In  the  hustling  crowds  that  throng, 

In  alleys  and  slums,  amid  gutter-snipes, 

In  music  divine,  or  the  lilt  of  Pan's  pipes, 

Of  a  kind 

You  will  find 

It  is  there 

Everywhere. 

Rushing  and  gurgling  streams  sing  the  song; 
It  is  old,  it  is  new,  it  is  short,  it  is  long. 
It's  the  same 
In  Love's  name, 
It's  the  song. 

In  country,  in  town,  in  every  place, 

In  every  heart,  in  every  face, 

There  is  love 

I  am  sure; 

It  cannot  be  bought; 

It  may  be  sought 

And  won. 

And  none, 

Whatever  the  kind,  is  bad. 

It  is  sad; 

It  is  pity,  full  oft. 

Divine  in  its  birth, 
There  is  nothing  on  Earth 
Like  Love — 
And  it's  there 
Everywhere. 


THE  ISLAND  OF  JEALOUSY 

Jealousy's  Isle  was  an  ugly  spot, 

As  it  lay  in  its  sea  of  blood. 

Foul  murder,  and  lies,  and  smothered  cries, 

Its  flotsam  and  jetsam,  like  sneaking  spies, 

Came  in  with  its  tide  at  the  flood. 


10 


MODERN  IMAGISM 

A  little  brown  bird 
On  the  window  sill, 
Spreading  his  wings; 
Hear!  how  he  sings! 
But,  now  and  again, 
With  his  little  brown  bill, 
He  is  oiling  his  feathers. 

Black  eyes  naught  fearing, 

Bright  eyes  oft  peering; 

Head  to  one  side, 

Now,  to  the  other; 

Preening,  and  ruffing  and  fluffing, 

And  yet — 

He  is  only  oiling  his  feathers! 


11 


THE  HEART  OF  A  ROSE 

Could  I  but  know, 
In  just  plain  prose, 
Does  anything  beat 
In  the  heart  of  a  rose? 
For,  oh! 

The  heart  of  a  rose, 
Of  a  red,  red  rose, 
Is  so  sweet! 
Could  I  but  know! 

Could  I  but  know! 
Beloved,  dear, 
Have  you  a  heart 
Where  it  ought  to  be? 
—You    heart   of    a   rose, 
Of  a  red,  red  rose, 
To  me! 
Could  I  but  know! 

Could  I  but  know! 
Sometimes — Ah!  Well — 
I  doubt  it  is  there, 
I  cannot  tell. 
For,  Oh! 

The  heart  of  a  rose, 
Of  a  red,  red  rose, 
Is  so  sweet! 
Could  I  but  know! 


12 


LIFE,  THE  GREAT  PROCESSION 

Neither  beginning  nor  end  is  seen ; 

On  and  on  it  goes, 

The  great  procession; 

Limitless ! 

Whence  has  it  come, 

Or  where  will  end? 

That  no  one  knows. 

It  moves 

Unceasingly ; 
Never  a  pause! 
The  pace  for  some  is  fast, 
For  some  is  slow ; 
And  some  there  be  who  faint 
Or  fall. 

But,  whether  slow  or  fast, 
The  individual  speed, 
Without  concern,  the  whole 
Moves  on, 

Moves  on. 


13 


For,  underneath  it  all 
Is  Time, 

The  Wheel, 
Which,  turning, 

turning — 
Carries  all  alike; 
No  stop,  no  pause, 
Not  swift,  not  slow, 
But  ever,  ever  on,  and  on 
It  moves 

Unceasingly. 


14 


THE  TORREY  PINES 

The  soft  west  wind  from  off  the  sea 

Frivolled  across  the  mesa, 

Over  miles  of  blossoming  yellow  sage 

Heavy  honey  laden. 

I  close  my  eyes;  it  all  comes  back  to  me; 

I  feel  the  phantom,  fluttering,  furtive  air; 

I  sense  the  honey. 

Above  the  sea,  austere  and  bat» 

I  see  the  mountains. 

Shadows  amethystine,  a  haze  the  high  light  dims 

And  mellows  rugged  peaks. 

All  ruddy  crimson,  down  the  West,  the  Sun 

Sinks  in  the  sea. 

Aloft,  above  the  hills, 

The  round  full  Moon  in  golden  glory  glides. 

All  space, 

The  changing,   evanescent,   evening   false  light  fills. 

And  there 

Against  the  sky, 

Etched  by  a  giant  hand,  all  inky  black 

The  Torrey  Pines; 

While  overhead  the  Moon,  now  purest  silver,  shines. 


15 


THE  RIDGE  ROAD 

Twisting,  turning 
— Like  some  live  thing — 
The  long,  long  road  goes  up  and  up; 
At  last,  the  summit:  around 
A  wilderness — a  wilderness  of  color, 
Evading,  all  pervading,  not  tangible, 
Rose,  pink  and  violet;  over  all 
A  veil,  a  haze  of  blue,  is  cast. 
Beneath  the  veil,  pastel;  but,  shadowy  dark 
And  purple,  in  the  depths; 
Where  sun  tips  higher  points,  is  orange. 
In  somber  spots,  far  in  some  canyon  cleft, 
Lurks  indigo. 

The  sky,  behind  the  outline  of  the  ridge,  pale  green, 
— A  Chinese  celadon — shading,  changing, 
Until  at  zenith,  blue. 
On  winds  the  road 

Giving  in  itself  the  thought  of  motion, 
Rushing  down  the  grade, 
Flashing  past  a  salt  marsh,  white  and  green, 
Abordered  sparingly  with  feathery  trees, 
Aglimmer  in  the  sun. 


16 


On,  on,  until  we  find  a  valley, 

Nesting  high  among  the  hill  tops. 

The  road  sweeps  on, 

— And  leaves  us  there — 

Up,  up  and  up  again,  high  over  mountain  pass, 

And  then, — for  us, — is  lost. 

We  pitch  our  little  camp, 

And,  all  around,  and  all  the  while,  and  everywhere, 

The    gray-green    flowering    plants,    star-petaled,    yellow, 

Are  waving  back  and  forth,  and  to  and  fro. 

Behind  are  mountains  in  full  shade, 

The  western  sun  below  their  crests, 

Veiled,  over  all,  with  misty  haze  of  blue. 

Far  down  in  front,  a  lake; 

The  slopes  of  brown  hills  curved  around 

Slip  down  to  water's  side: 

They  meet  and — kiss. 

High  overhead  the  sky  serene, 

— Pretending  not  to  see — looks  on. 

While  all  around,  and  all  the  while,  and  everywhere, 

The    gray-green    flowering    plants,    star-petaled,    yellow, 

Are  waving  back  and  forth — 

Are  waving  to  and  fro. 


17 


UNIVEKSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY, 
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APR  fiG  1822 


KCC'ULD 


20?n-ll,'20 


VB  12169 


415010 


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